


party trick

by seventhswan



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: F/F, Implied Pairing, Mild Gore, Misogyny, mild violence, sexual harassment (verbal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhswan/pseuds/seventhswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's tough out there for a princess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	party trick

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a potential trigger in the form of verbal sexual harassment. The violence and gore consists of brief mentions and is not lingered upon.

In some ways, it doesn’t matter how many lunkheads Peach fells in the ring, whipping their legs out from under them with her parasol, going bare knuckle and feeling the crunch of teeth giving way under her narrow hands. She could destroy a thousand men, but she’ll never forget the sniggers from the boys at the Mushroom Kingdom Training Academy when she arrived in her puffball dress – the things they said while she was trying to wield a katana in front of the panel to pass her entrance exam.

_Go home, sweetheart!_

_Hey baby, I got a job you’re more suited for – right here in my pants!_

She blocked them out, concentrating on her screaming muscles, making the white noise of her body envelop her until all she could hear was her breathing. They were troglodytes, steroid guzzlers - even if they’d seen through the disguise and realized she was their crown princess, they wouldn’t have cared.

It was better that way.

At those infrequent moments when Peach is sad – on rainy days, days when the cake she pulls from the oven collapses on itself like a sigh, days where her knuckles are too swollen for her to practice with her parasol - she calls up a certain memory. Just the image of those boys’ stupid faces when, halfway through the demonstration, she whipped the bottom half of her dress away to reveal the dagger in the holster on her thigh.

And threw it, perfectly, to raze half the moustache of the leftmost examiner, who’d smirked at one of the jibes.

She passed the exam.

|

She still wears a dress when she goes out at night to join the streetfighting ring on the wrong side of mushroom kingdom. The newer girls ask her about it, puzzled, but all Peach does is shrug and smile. She works hard to keep herself a secret, even though she has an idle fantasy of wearing her crown to a fight and grinding its points into challengers’ chests, milking their hearts like juicing tender fruit.

In the dingy, dirty basement of the fight club, Peach wraps her knuckles in white tape and glances at the new girl sitting on an upturned crate, face pale. She has delicate features, obviously beautiful, even obscured by a veiled headpiece. The regal bridge of her nose and her full mouth are unmistakeable.

“Nervous, princess?” Peach says, setting down the roll of tape and taking the girl’s narrow chin in hand. The girl blinks huge eyes, alarmed, but makes no attempt to jerk away.

“How did you –“

Peach winks.

“I hear things,” she says, and then crosses her heart with one dainty finger, sticking out her tongue playfully. “I won’t tell.”

She keeps her fingertips steady on Zelda’s jaw, and pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncaps it. The girl’s eyes – the princess’ eyes – follow her hands’ every movement, the same hands that earlier bore the patronising kiss of the visiting Minister for Agriculture.

“Nobody’s coming to save you, princess,” Peach says, as she carefully fills in the princess’ cupid’s bow. Zelda’s mouth falls slack, pliant, and Peach can feel the even ebb and flow of her breath. Peach draws back and presses her lips together so Zelda will copy, and when she does, scarlet blooms across her mouth like blood soaking into a linen handkerchief. 

Above their heads, the first round bell rings.


End file.
